


Like Puzzle Pieces

by willowsandwonders



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Also fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:59:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowsandwonders/pseuds/willowsandwonders
Summary: Michael had never really spent much time thinking about his crushes on Gavin and Lindsay. They were just facts of life. Grass is green, water is wet. Michael Jones might be a little bit in love with his two best friends. And the world keeps spinning.And, another fact: he can’t imagine choosing between them. That would be just be fucking impossible. So he goes about life the same as ever. Until Gavin kisses Lindsay out of the blue and, suddenly, Michael doesn’t know what to do anymore.





	Like Puzzle Pieces

So Michael has a problem. Two problems, actually. Who for the past five minutes have been trying to land ping pong balls in his coffee cup that _might_ be full of some moonshine Geoff brought in. He had to improvise, okay? So far Lindsay’s landed two, Gavin’s hit his monitor twice and his cheek once. Michael can practically hear the NBA recruiters knocking down the door as he continues to ignore them.

The problem isn’t that Lindsay and Gavin are being annoying little shits. If _that_ was the issue then he’d be all the way across state lines by now, because nothing short of starting a new life in the swamps of Louisiana or some shit like that is the only defense against Thing 1 and Thing 2 and their horrible senses of humor. No, that’s not the problem. The thing that sets his heart racing and leg bouncing is that, for all their poking and prodding and stupid faces, they’re not actually _annoying._

He takes another swig of the moonshine, valiantly ignoring the two floating ping pong balls that bump against his nose at the motion. There’s a dick joke in there somewhere, if he had the heart to make it. Instead, he clicks up the volume on the achievement guide he’s watching, trading Gavin’s soft, squeaky laughs for the repetitive music of an indie game.

Planning what achievements he’ll get after Lindsay drives him home in twenty minutes is easier than running the feeling of Gavin poking at his cheek through the filter of alcohol. Or how he knows what radio station to turn to when he gets in Lindsay’s car, because she likes classic rock to get her through Friday traffic. And she’ll park lopsided on the street, walk him up to the door of his apartment even though she doesn’t have to, and squeeze his shoulder before he goes inside. And then Gavin will text him a shitload of photos of his cat until Smee swats at him to stop, and then Michael will send those same photos to Lindsay because she’ll appreciate them more.

He knows their patterns like he knows his own. And the real problem is, well, he likes them both a little too much.

 

\---

On Saturday night, while very busy burying the dregs of his moonshine headache in some Zelda, Michael gets a call from Lindsay.

“I’m outside,” she says the instant he picks up. “Be out here in five or I’m sending Gavin in after you.” The unspoken threat is that Gavin will fuck with the shit in his apartment until he’s out the door.

So he answers with a quick “ _Holyshitokay_ ” and hangs up. He’s still getting used to the new thrill of nerves that rise up in his chest right before he hangs out with them. But hey, at least the adrenaline gives him the speed to get ready in record time, throwing on some jeans and running a hand through his hair in an effort to look presentable.

And then he’s scrambling into Lindsay’s car and letting himself get swept up in the familiar chaos, nervous energy fading to a buzz of contentment.

 

\---

The proposed plan for the evening had been simple. Which, of course, is why it got fucked up _immediately._ Lindsay had wanted to take them to this new barbecue place, except the line went out the door and Gavin took the opportunity to pounce and say he didn't really _want_ barbecue anyway, suggested they got Chinese. _Except_ Lindsay’s backup was pizza, and Michael was so hungry he didn't _care,_ and--

And now they're crammed in a booth of what might be a Wendy’s from the goddamn Twilight Zone. The lights are flickering. The parking lot is completely empty save for their car. He's only seen one other guy in here (outside of the exhausted cashier), eating a hamburger in the far corner at the speed of a sloth. He’s wearing a fucking _trenchcoat_ in _Texas summer._

And Michael’s, like, ninety percent sure that the guy’s gonna murder them after he finishes eating. He's got that air about him. Gavin figures he's a robot.

Lindsay dips another fry in her Frosty. “I think Gavin’s on to something,” she stage whispers. “He doesn’t even have fries!”

“Yeah!” Gavin fires back, _definitely_ loud enough for the dude to hear. “And they’re supposed to come with! He would’ve had to _ask_ for there not to be fries. ‘S weird!” He waves an arm in the air for emphasis like some demented British pinwheel, almost smacking Lindsay in the face. Michael takes advantage of the distraction to steal another fry from Lindsay’s tray.

And then Gavin turns to look at him and Michael mentally starts writing his own will. Fuck it, might as well put himself on Murder Guy’s hit list too.

“Throw your drink at him--see if he starts melting like the Witch of the fucking West.”

“We’re not trying to _kill_ him,” Lindsay says at the exact same moment Gavin bursts out a “ _Mi_ chael!”

“What?” he throws his hands up in defense, “Two birds one stone! Answers your dumbass question and kills the next Robocop or whoever the hell he is.” His voice started as a harsh whisper but he can’t stop it from climbing to its normal volume. Which is probably gonna get him murdered in a Wendy’s from hell.

A chair scrapes backwards, screeching against the tiles. The three of them freeze like deer in the headlights. Slowly, Michael turns his head to see the creepy guy putting his empty tray on the stack accumulating on top of the trash can before marching towards the door. He nods solemnly to the cashier who still looks half-dead, steps outside, and stalks off into the night.

He’s been gone for all of twenty seconds before Lindsay and Gavin start cackling maniacally. To the point where it’s almost _screeching_ on Gavin’s end. Which means two things. Either it’s stress laughter, or--

“Were you two chucklefucks just messing with me back there?” Lindsay becomes very interested in her Frosty, still snickering. Gavin’s found a new best friend in a french fry that fell onto the table.

“Oh my god,” is all Michael can say. “What was even the _joke_? Literally getting us fucking _murdered_?”

“I didn’t actually think he was a _robot,_ Michael!” Gavin offers, his grin completely shit-eating.

“I didn’t either!” He goes for exasperated, but too much laughter is breaking through his words. He can already feel the dumbass smile on his face growing wider.

“Well, at least _we_ weren’t the ones who made it about murdering innocent robots,” Lindsay says. “Our bullshittery was one hundred percent morally sound.” She throws a french fry at him when he tries to steal another one. Which kind of defeats the purpose of stopping him.

Michael covers his mouth with one hand so he can at least pretend to be mad. “I hate both of you. You’re ruining my life.”

“Nahh,” Gavin says, knocking knees with him under the table. “You _love_ us.”

_Yep,_ is all Michael can think, shifting his hand to hide the red rising in his cheeks, _I really fucking do._

 

\---

It’s a week later and Geoff has burgers on the grill, Michael’s watching Gavin and Lindsay shout over a modified game of checkers where when they lose a piece they drink, and every part of the world feels like it’s in the right place.

The sun’s at that perfect point where it’s set enough not to shine in anyone’s eyes but still lighting up everyone in the yard with an orange glow, making everything feel a little bit like he’s left the cookout and entered a dream. And hell, maybe he has. He’s certainly not complaining. Nothing short of a meteor crashing into earth is gonna kill his good mood.

Or, nothing short of people getting bored and bringing out the yard games. Apparently two checker boards and a neglected pack of cards aren’t enough to keep the masses occupied. Griffon brings out a bag of Bocci balls, which pulls a halfway tipsy Gavin away from the checkers match. And next someone tows out the cornhole, better known as the cookout-bred phenomenon he may _never_ understand, and then Lindsay’s wandering off too. Which leaves him with a much louder yard but a much emptier circle of chairs.

So he stands up to find something new to do, or more likely wander after one of them like a lost puppy, but he finds himself hesitating. Because, well, it’s _stupid_ , but--

He doesn’t know who to follow.

And that’s a whole problem in and of itself. If he just liked one of them, or even liked one a little more than the other, then his answer to all this would be simple. But he can’t _choose._ And he’s sure they’d make fun of that if they knew, Michael having a _type_ and all, but in the end he loves all the ways they’re similar and all the ways that they’re different _so much_ that he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

But tonight he doesn’t end up having to choose, because Jeremy marches over with Matt in tow, asking him to settle some argument about Ganondorf that’s already gotten pretty heated. Having a tattoo of the guy apparently marks him as a specialist but hey, he’s game. And so he buries himself in obscure Legend of Zelda timeline bullshit for the rest of the cookout and _definitely_ doesn’t sneak glances at Lindsay and Gavin to see how they’re doing. He’s got his bullshit emotions one hundred percent under control.

 

\---

The one day Michael’s the _tiniest_ bit late for work, he ends up missing a hell of a lot. He’s stuck in line to buy doughnuts for everybody like a good fucking coworker when his phone starts buzzing wildly in his pocket. He clicks on the screen and, yep, Gavin.

_Gavino:_ _I jsut spilledmy coffee ALL over Lindsay hlp_

_Gavino:_ _And shes wearing that new shirt too_

_Gavino:_ _The pink one wiht that cat she likes on it_

_Gavino:_ _Oh god_

_Michael:_ _I’ll start planning your funeral_

Michael snorts, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He’s honestly surprised it’s been this long since the last time Gavin had some collateral damage attached to his drink spillage. When he gets to the counter he orders a few extra of Lindsay’s favorite doughnuts, chocolate icing with raspberry jam. Hopefully that’ll make up for having to scrub coffee out of her Pusheen shirt.

His phone buzzes again on the way to his car. He doesn’t think much of it, more focused on how he’s gotten so spoiled by Lindsay taking him to work that it all feels kind of weird for a second. But he wasn’t gonna make her take a half hour detour for _doughnuts._ And maybe he slept in a little, but that’s nobody’s business if he’s providing breakfast.

He wrestles the doughnut boxes into the back in a way that hopefully means they won’t slide around before pulling out his phone again. This time, the message is from Lindsay.

_ Lindsay: _ _Gavin just kissed me?_

Michael’s brain tries very hard to process that the first time through. Or the second time. Or to process it at all, really. Instead he ends up standing very still with his hand frozen on the car door’s handle, staring at the cracks in the asphalt and probably looking a little off his rocker. Oh well.

_Gavin kissed Lindsay._ That’s the thought of the day as he drives to work, running circles in his head but somehow never making sense. How the _fuck_ does spilling coffee lead to _that_? And how come he never saw this coming? It’s not even nine yet and he already feels a headache building behind his eyes.

He finds himself standing in the office, boxes of doughnuts still in his arms, and not any bit closer to figuring out what the hell is going on. This is too much to be a prank, even from them. And the office is suspiciously empty of one Gavin Free and Lindsay Tuggey.

Ryan spots him first, getting up to help him carry the sugary mountain. He must notice who Michael’s looking for, too, the observant bastard. “Lindsay and Gavin went somewhere to talk, but they’ll be back soon, especially now that there’s food.” He tries to very slyly take a glazed doughnut from the box he picks up, fumbling and almost dropping it. If Michael’s brain had room for anything else other than _Lindsay and Gavin holy shit_ at the moment then he might have laughed.

“They’re probably banging in the kitchen,” Geoff offers from his desk without looking up, deadpan. “Gavin spilled his shitty coffee all over her and then kissed her so he wouldn’t get murdered. It’s the coward’s way out.”

Michael nods slowly, stuffing a doughnut in his mouth before he can say anything dumb. This is fine, everything’s fucking peachy. He sits at his desk and eats his doughnut and starts loading up GTA when Ryan tells him to. Easy. A goddamn cakewalk. Turns out the secret is to just not think about it at all.

But then Jack goes to bring them back so they can record, and the office door has barely clicked shut again before his brain starts going haywire. What does he say to them? How should he act around them? Where does he fit with them now? Or maybe they’re not even together, maybe it was some dumb Gavin thing and he’s spent the past however-long talking himself into a hole. Or maybe--

Jack wanders back in, and Michael has a second to take in how he rolls his eyes but is smiling anyway, so things can’t be _completely_ fucked. And then Gavin and Lindsay walk in.

Lindsay has that mile wide grin she gets when she’s excited, has her arm wrapped around Gavin’s, whose smile is that tiny, pleased thing he does where his eyes get scrunched up and his cheeks turn red. Michael’s been on the receiving end of both, but now they only have eyes for each other. They don’t even notice the doughnuts that Michael so kindly bought for them. And yeah, that’s totally what’s bugging him about this picture. Definitely not how Gavin gives Lindsay a quick peck on the cheek before power walking to his desk, face red as a tomato, and doesn’t even spare Michael a second glance while they get ready to record.

 

\---

Michael Jones is drunk drunk _drunk._ A fucking Thursday night and he’s already off his ass. Couldn’t even hold out for the weekend. He must look pretty pathetic, some drunken idiot all alone at the bar, but there’s a little bit too much whiskey in him now for that to be something he’s worried about. It’s really hot in here. Too hot, he should probably go home. He’s not firing on all cylinders but he knows his apartment gets cold at night. That sounds nice right now. Yeah, yeah, he wants to go home.

Isn’t Lindsay gonna take him home?

No--he’s been driving himself all week. And he took an Uber here. At least he’s got that straight in his head. He calls another one, trying to kick himself back into sober mode. But that’s not gonna happen any time soon. Not with unopened voicemails from Lindsay burning holes in his phone or the memories of all of the weird looks Gavin was giving him bouncing around his head. He just needs a few more days. Just a little bit more time to adjust to the new dynamic. Yeah.

Michael makes it back to his apartment in one piece, feeling a little bit gross and head-achy. He checks his phone to find some texts from Gav, which he opens before remembering he’s supposed to be leaving both of them alone to bask in their honeymoon phase or some shit like that.

He’s greeted by a photo of Smee lounging on the couch, then one of his face pressed right up against the camera. And then another photo pops up of Gavin with his face smushed in his fur. Michael can see the edge of his smile peeking out and his chest burns in a way that he’s pretty sure is pleasant. He saves the photo to his phone before any better semblance of self control can stop him.

A few more messages come in, but Michael’s already well on his way to passing the fuck out. He’ll deal with everything in the morning.

 

\---

_Gavino:_ _IMG_0687.JPG_

_Gavino:_ _I’m going to keep sending these until you answer_

_Gavino:_ _You were just reading these where’d you go_

_Gavino:_ _Michael?_

_Gavino:_ _Missed Call (2)_

_Lindsay:_ _Missed Call_

 

\---

Michael does not, in fact, deal with it in the morning. He blames that one on the hangover. But then he doesn’t deal with it over the weekend, or Monday at work, and then he’s lying in bed and he’s not really sure what the fuck he’s doing. The chill in his apartment doesn’t feel soothing anymore. It makes everything feel empty.

He’s so wrapped up in his own head that he doesn’t even register the moment when his mind starts calming down, eyelids drooping shut, and then he’s _out._

 

\---

He opens his eyes and he’s underwater. Just emptiness on all sides, the surface looking a mile above him, the rocky bottom just as far beneath. None of this bothers him much on its own, but he _knows_ in the way all dreams go that there are a few unavoidable facts to the situation. One, Lindsay is on the surface. Two, Gavin is somewhere between the rocks lining the bottom. Three, there’s going to be a tsunami that pulverizes the land and a monster that attacks in the sea.

And his heart starts beating faster. A hand breaks through the surface of the water, reaching out to him. He starts to swim up towards it, but a flash of motion catches his eye and he freezes. It's another hand, coming from between the rocks.

“ _Choose,”_ rings out in the water around him, shaking the sea. But all at once the pressure grows too strong and he can’t move, can’t _think._ He curls in on himself as the waters begin to churn around him, dragging him backwards as the tsunami builds, dragging him closer to horrible monster swimming towards him, all teeth and eyes and _horrible._ He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the price of failure.

He opens his eyes and he’s in a hallway with a door on either side of him. And behind both are absolutely _blood curdling_ shouts for help but he can’t move no matter how hard he tries, can’t _choose,_ feet rooted to the floorboards. But then the ground underneath him crumbles away and he’s falling, _falling._

He opens his eyes again and he’s in the office. But all the lights are out and no one’s _here._ In the dim light from the computers he can see that his desk is the only one not covered in dust, the only one with any sign it’s ever been _used._ He calls out but no one answers. And he _knows,_ somehow, that he can’t leave the room unless someone opens the door. But everyone’s _left_ and all at once it feels like there’s not any air left to breath and he’s all _alone,_ forever.

 

\---

Michael wakes up with a burst of adrenaline, already sitting up before he even knows where he is. He takes a gasping breath, then another. Okay, alright, he’s in his room. No fucking sea monsters here. Though he’s already forgetting the dream piece by piece as he wakes up further. Which is probably for the best. If it was bad enough to get him in a cold sweat like this, he’s pretty fine with not knowing.

But even with the dream fading from his mind, he can’t shake the sense of dread that’s settled on his shoulders. That something terrible is lurking just around the corner, waiting for him to misstep. So with a possibly over-dramatic sigh he flicks his lamp on, boots up his laptop, and resolves himself to getting some kind of work done. Maybe two in the morning is a little too soon for an early-start, but if it chases the last bits of the dream away then he’s cool with it.

He does what might count as working for a few hours, checking out some little indie games that might make good videos, reads some of the comments on stuff they’ve just put out. The busywork helps him push through the exhaustion for a while once the adrenaline fades. And he’ll make some coffee once the sun starts coming up, because by then his apartment won’t feel all dark and murder-y. He feels a little lame for being nervous about _making coffee_ in the dark, but hey, he’s allowed to be a bit of a pussy in his own home.

The plan makes sense in his head, though he is admittedly kind of sleep-stupid at the moment. It kind of goes to shit when somewhere around six he blinks a little too slow and he’s out again.

The whole cycle of accidentally falling asleep is starting to get pretty damn annoying. His laptop battery’s died, for one, and then he realizes that the sun shining through the blinds to stab at his eyes is _probably_ a bad thing. He clicks on his phone to check the time again and, _okay,_ it’s ten in the fucking morning and the adrenaline’s back again. There’s a few messages on the screen asking where he is but that barely registers through the blaring realization that he’s _totally fucked._

He makes it to the office in record time. It’s amazing what the combination of leaving after morning traffic clears and sheer panic can accomplish. By the time he gets to work the day is already well underway, which means he gets roped into a video almost the instant he walks through the door. Which also means no emergency Redbull for Michael. Lady Luck really isn’t his biggest fan today.

The day gets kind of blurry after that. He’s pretty sure he got a total of five or six hours of sleep, which _should_ be fine, but his brain has apparently decided not to count nightmare-sleep in that equation. Totally bullshit. But tell that to the head-fog that’s making it _really_ fucking difficult for him to get any work done. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that everyone else seems to be really goddamn busy, half of them scattering to go work on stuff...somewhere. He’s pretty sure Geoff told him where they were going, but it can’t be too important if his brain didn’t bother filing that info away. Yeah.

The third time he almost falls asleep at his desk, he stands up to stretch. Why hasn’t he gotten a Redbull yet? Should’ve done that. He looks around the office, blinks. There’s no one here. Is it lunchtime? He _is_ kind of hungry. A sound in the hallway catches his attention and he turns a little too fast, head spinning a bit. Wasn’t this a part of his dream last night?

And then Lindsay’s there. The wave of relief that hits him is stupidly powerful. He’s good now, Lindsay’s got him.

She looks kind of confused? Her eyebrows are scrunched up. Michael’s probably mirroring the look. A headache is pulsing behind his eyes and it’s making it a little bit hard to concentrate. God, he’s gonna sleep like a fucking rock tonight. Or in five seconds, because he’s so tired that he feels like he could drop right here and now. Maybe he will.

“Hey,” Lindsay’s saying, wrapping a hand around his arm and shepherding him towards the couch. “Let’s sit you down, alright?” He gives a belated nod, already sinking back into the cushions. The couch is _really_ comfy. Lindsay runs a hand through his hair, then massages one of his shoulders for a minute. He almost melts at the contact. He _knows_ he’s supposed to be giving them space, letting her and Gavin work their own things out, but he’s so _tired_ and he misses both of them so _much._

“I’m gonna take you home.” There’s no room for argument. Not that he could put up much of a fight when he’s this sleepy. He’s not sure he wants to try either. Going home sounds really, really nice right now.

He doesn’t remember most of the car ride, probably drifted off. He _does_ realize when they get to his door that his car’s still at the office, but Lindsay promises she’ll come pick him up in the morning, like she used to. So that’s okay. And then he _finally_ gets to sleep, the lingering worry of having more nightmares dampened by the goddamn _amazing_ feeling of his head hitting the pillow.

\---

Turns out that falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon screws with sleep patterns a bit. He wakes up a little after eight, which is kind of weird, but _holy shit_ does he feel better. Actual thoughts can run through his head now, not that they get much further than the wave of embarrassment from wasting an entire day at work. God knows what all he might’ve said to people when he was all slap-happy. Maybe someone filmed it. At least that way they get a video out of it, isn’t a total loss.

He makes some coffee, which helps shake off the last of the drowsiness. And then he almost does a full on spit-take when he checks his phone. There’s the text he expected from Lindsay, reminding him that she’ll be picking him up in the morning and to maybe try sleeping normal hours this time. If anything, that all sets him at ease. It’s the texts from _Gavin_ that throw him for a loop this time.

_Gavino:_ _Griffon said I had to send you these or she would kill me_

It’s a bunch of links to articles. Which, not the weirdest thing on its own, but the kicker is that every single goddamn one is about relationships with more than two people. Polyamory isn’t exactly a new concept for him, Griffon’d laid it out for them one time in a video, but he doesn’t understand why Gavin had to be threatened into sending these to him. Michael reads the articles to be polite, but half the words don’t stick. He’s more worried about the motivation behind this than the content itself. There’s this stupid, hopeful possibility floating around his head, but he doesn’t even want to _start_ thinking too deeply about it. Maybe he’s still asleep and this is some weird fever dream.

His phone rings in his hand, making him jump. It’s Gavin. Michael declines the call--he needs some time to figure out what the fuck is happening, exactly, before he talks to either of them. Gavin sends him a frowny face in retaliation. Michael can work with that. The more normal everyone acts, the easier this shitstorm will be to navigate.

_Michael:_ _Chill out I read them_

_Michael:_ _Take your passive aggressive sad faces somewhere else mister_

_Gavino:_ _ >:0 _

_Michael:_ _ <==|-- that’s the wonky knife I’m gonna kill your face man with _

_Michael:_ _He’s got five minutes to run_

_Gavino:_ _ >:,0 _

_Michael:_ _Changed my mind, three minutes_

Michael takes a deep breath, steeling himself to take the plunge. It’s just _Gavin._ He shouldn’t be this nervous.

_Michael:_ _And seriously, what were those articles about_

_Michael:_ _Like why did Griffon want me to see them so bad_

_Michael:_ _And make YOU the messenger of all people_

Okay, that wasn’t bad. Straight to the point and the tiniest bit mean, just like normal. He bounces his leg and looks around for some kind of distraction so he can pretend time hasn’t slowed down while he waits for an answer. He settles on the new Zelda game, surprise surprise, but his concentration is all over the place. He’s reminded of that time he texted Gavin to invite him out to lunch and the guy didn’t answer for three hours. This is probably normal.

His phone goes off again and he accidentally sends Link into a river in his scramble to grab it. But Link is quickly forgotten in the wake of the new messages.

_Lindsay:_ _Gavin and I are gonna be at your place in twenty minutes_

_Michael:_ _Whoa wait what the fuck_

_Lindsay:_ _We’re fixing shit like adults_

_Lindsay:_ _Insane concept I know_

_Lindsay:_ _Please actually be there when we show up_

He looks up from the screen in time to see Link drown. Michael can relate to that feeling. But this is what he wanted, right? For Lindsay and Gavin to just fucking _tell_ him what they want him to do so he stops running and hiding from them like a moron. Maybe then he can shake off his bullshit _feelings_ and let them actually have a good relationship. It’s not fair to them if he gets in the way, but it’s also not fine to just leave them in the dust.

But those fucking articles Gavin sent--

Nope, no way. He’s gonna sit on his couch, play some fucking Zelda, and not jump to a single goddamn conclusion. So that’s exactly what he does.

 

\---

In the two minutes that Lindsay and Gavin have been in his apartment, Michael’s pretty sure his heart has stopped no fewer than three times. Once when they knocked on the door, again when Lindsay asked him if he was feeling better with a way too serious expression, then when Gavin tried to break the nervous air by poking him right between the eyes. Idiot.

They end up penning him in on either side on his way-too-small couch. The warm contact on both sides would be soothing if it felt less like a strategic move to keep him from bolting. It’s working so far. Would work better if Gavin could stop bouncing his leg at mach speed, it’s only making him more and more anxious about the conversation ahead.

Lindsay claps her hands together. Both Michael and Gavin jump. “So!” she says, powering on, “Michael, we’re all fucking idiots.” Wow, alright. Not exactly what he’d expected to come out of her mouth, but he can’t dispute it either. Gavin taps his shoulder to get his attention. Apparently they’re tag-teaming him.

“You remember the day I kissed Lindsay ‘n all that?” Michael nods. Kind of hard to forget. “Well, that’s when you started acting all...all…”

“Mingey?” Lindsay supplies.

“Yeah! Like you hated us all of a sudden. Wouldn’t talk to us, got all grumpy out of nowhere. And we should’ve put it together right then and there, but we were too caught up in sorting out our own mess. So we just figured that maybe something happened and you needed time, so we let you be. But by the time we realized we were wrong, you were passing out in the damn office!”

“And just to lay it all out,” Lindsay cuts in, “Gav and I are _totally_ dating now. He bought me ice cream and everything.”

“Already putting in the big bucks, huh Gavvy?” Michael offers weakly. “That’s a lotta commitment.” Gavin sticks his tongue out at him, but stays silent so Lindsay can keep going.

“But the plan was to ask you about all this, too,” she says as casually as talking about the fucking weather and Michael’s heart takes a vacation for the umpteenth time that night.

“ _What?_ ” he manages to squeeze out. Talking is a pretty impressive feat at the moment.

“Thought it was _obvious,_ boi.” Gavin pokes at his shoulder, smiling now. “We’re all a package deal! Linds and I were starting to think you’d _never_ get off your arse about it. And I guess you didn’t, actually. Considering we had to basically bloody break into your house to get you to talk about it.”

Michael has an iron grip on the edge of the couch cushion. It’s probably the only thing keeping him from floating away with the flood of what he’s pretty sure is happiness washing through him. Holy shit, holy _shit._ This isn’t something that’d ever crossed his mind. That they wanted _him_ as much as he wanted _them._

Somehow, all that makes it out of his mouth is, “Why’d I have to be the one to ask you idiots out?” He feels a smile spreading across his face that’s been absent for far too long. Jesus Christ, he can’t believe how happy these losers make him without even _trying._

“Well I’d already gossiped to Gavin about it,” Lindsay says. She’s grinning that amazing smile again and, yeah, Michael’s probably going to die with how warm his chest is getting. It shouldn’t be this easy to fix everything, but then again, he’d forgotten how _natural_ things were with them all together. “--let’s be honest,” he tunes back in to hear Lindsay say, “Gavin was _never_ going to do it--”

He leans back against the cushions with a sigh, listening to Lindsay and Gavin make their way through explaining why he _totally_ should have pioneered this shitstorm with some massive romantic gesture. The suggestions get more dramatic by the second until Michael can barely keep up with them anymore. It’s been a long-ass day. But the ending makes it more than worth it.

“You still with us?” Gavin asks and Michael sits up with a start, blinking until his vision clears.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just put a movie on or something, it’ll wake me up.” For a second he considers making some more coffee. But that means sacrificing the warmth of his...partners on either side of him. He’ll have to ask about labels and shit later. Though, according to Lindsay’s standards at least, if he pays for ice cream he’ll get elevated to boyfriend status.

He honestly can’t say what movie they settled on. By the time the intro starts rolling he’s already half asleep, head lolling to rest on someone’s shoulder. An arm wraps around his shoulders and he sighs in contentment.

This is really, really good. Everything’s finally slid into places he hadn’t even dared to imagine. And it’s better than he ever could’ve hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> This story got away from me a bit, but it was fun as hell to write and a really nice refresher after some busy weeks. Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
